Lakers legend Tex Winter needs to be encircled with care

You never saw it. The Lakers never ran it. An 87-year-old stroke victim conceived it.

But amid all the intricate designs concocted by the NBA champions during their postseason run, perhaps no single play was more important.

It appeared not in the glitz of Staples Center, but in a quiet assisted living apartment home in Wilsonville, Ore.

While the Lakers were celebrating their Finals victory over the Orlando Magic, basketball consultant Tex Winter was fighting to speak the words "Orlando" and "Magic."

Having suffering a stroke earlier in the playoffs, Winter could barely talk or comprehend. It was difficult to write, difficult to gesture, one of the greatest teachers in basketball history laboring to learn the basics of living.

His team had won, but Winters was still fighting, the frustration growing each day, until finally his son Chris had an idea.

"OK, Dad," Chris said, sticking a piece of paper in front of his father's hand. . . . "Draw a play."

Tex looked down. He thought for a second. He slowly put pen to paper.

And there it was.

The triangle.

"Out of nowhere, there it was, the offense, drawn perfectly, completely understandable, legible enough for the players to run it," Chris said. "I was really surprised. And I wasn't surprised at all."

Yeah, Tex is still with us.

The guy who designed the offense that has led to four Lakers' NBA championships may have disappeared, but he's not gone.

Tex Winter's calming, white-haired presence may never again be seen sitting behind Phil Jackson on the Lakers' bench.

He may never again be able to speak without assistance or live without care.

His sons say he is battling boredom and depression while facing the most difficult climb of his life.

But the force is still with us, one of the greatest coaches in basketball history still trying to coach from a living room chair in an apartment he shares with his Alzheimer's-stricken wife, Nancy.

"He's still a coach," said Russ, another of Winters' three sons. "It may not always seem like it on the outside, but there's still a coach in there."

Take the first game Winter watched after suffering his stroke in late April.

He was essentially immobile in a chair in front of a television set, watching the Lakers losing to the Houston Rockets, when son Chris ripped one of the Lakers for not hustling.

Out of nowhere, the coach appeared.